


I've Loved You

by eraleon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraleon/pseuds/eraleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How it brought back such horrible memories. It’s funny how fate plays out, huh? One minute, you think that person’s dead, but turns out they really weren’t. </p><p>And you're stuck standing there, thinking that maybe you really are more insane than you thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Loved You

_“ My name isn’t David. It’s Agent Washington.”_

 

How it brought back such horrible memories. It’s funny how fate plays out, huh? One minute, you think that person’s dead, but turns out they really weren’t. 

This had all become to much to handle at this point.

Ever since Epsilon had been implanted and self destructed within the confinements of Washington’s head, his nerves seemed to be permanently shot. His hands always seemed to shake, causing him to grip his gun so much tighter than what he really intended to do, but it’s something he just can’t help. So he’d always be doing something with his hands so it wouldn’t raise questions, but now? 

Now is not the time for even thinking about that. 

Instead, there’s absolutely nothing on his mind. It’s completely blank, the gears getting so terribly jammed that he’s almost somewhat afraid he might actually go into shock and quite possibly faint. The man in armor, right in front of him --- It just couldn’t be possible. He was dead, Agent New York had died, he had seen it with his own two eyes. He recovered Delta. He detonated York himself. _His body exploded._

So how? How, in any logical way, was he still alive? 

 

_“Shit --- Okay, okay, fine! We’ll tell you!”_

_“Spill it.”_

_“Y - You just had this really bad nightmare episode --- And York tried to wake you --- But you almost --- Killed him. You attacked and choked him. So we had to --- Sedate you ---”_

 

How could he face such a man? Especially after what he did, how bad Washington had hurt him? No, not hurt. _He destroyed York._ So, it’s all he could do, just simply walk away. And damn was the former Freelancer so grateful that Tucker was there, that he would keep this fake York at bay. Or the... Real deal.

“...So. Care explaining to me why you upset Wash so much without even saying anything. Who the fuck are you?” His voice is almost brittle, lowered an octave than usual of what it would be under normal circumstances, but this isn’t his typical day. This isn’t what Tucker wanted to see of Washington, an Agent he thought he couldn’t come to trust, but just eventually _did._ He used to think Freelancers couldn’t have any real emotion, that they were just machines following orders from any kind of force just for profit.  They were cold-hearted bastards, every single one of them.

...Or, that’s something he would’ve said in the past. But Washington was different; He opened the Captain’s eyes. He showed him a world in which not all Freelancers were so bad. Sure, Wash was certainly strange in certain situations, but that’s what made him so interesting. However much he annoyed Tucker, he already taught so much. 

There’s no way he would let someone hurt him like this, especially without a good reason.

“’Wish I knew, myself, kid.”

Tucker frowns at those gruff words, holding out an arm and abruptly stopping the ex-Agent before he could pass and do further damage. Whoever the fuck this guy thought he was, he wasn’t such _hot shit_ in the Captain’s book.

“Okay, no? Absolutely no? Have you considered that? I know Wash, and I have a feeling I know him better than you ever would, so why in the hell is he so upset just because you decided to show up out of nowhere? I’m not letting you get anywhere close to him until he either comes out and tells me it’s okay, or if you tell me who you _fucking are._ ”

And York can’t help but give a snort of contempt, tilting his helmet slightly downwards just so Tucker knew he was looking directly at him --- Something he just didn’t have the patience for. He came here with a purpose, and whatever this scene playing out was, it wasn’t it. This Sim Trooper was really starting to grate on the former Freelancer’s nerves, and he swore if he didn’t back off soon ---

But he can’t help feeling somewhat _touched._ Whoever he was, there was such a level of care and understanding for Washington, that the tiniest of smiles crossed his face for a moment. He remembered when there was a time the both of them would have done that for each other in an instant, but time was cruel. Fate was cruel.

Washington had been cruel.

“We had history, things were said and done, he originally thought I was dead. That’s all you need to know.”

 

_“You know what this means, right. This is what they warned us about.”_

_“What are you talking about?”  
_

_“York, stop smiling. There’s nothing to smile about here, anymore. This is why we couldn’t be together, and it’s taken me so long for me to stop being so foolish about this. This is why romantic affairs were banned.”  
_

_“David --- “  
_

_“We can’t be together anymore,_ Agent New York. _”  
_

And hearing those words would Tucker grip his gun tighter, his entire body seeming to become more rigid visually as the news settled in.

“...So you’re a Freelancer.” There’s venom to his words, a certain hatred beginning to seep through with poignance, but shock wins its way through _because now apparently the Agent died_. Or, was presumed dead. 

And York has to mentally restrain himself from turning on the Sim Trooper, his eyes beginning to dangerously narrow at Tucker. He was tired and done with the Project, he didn’t want to keep being reminded of how awful such a title really was. He just wanted to be known as just York, nothing else. No ‘Freelancer’ part of it.

It’s a good thing Tucker started speaking again.

“Well then, there ya go. You two had history, you died, and Wash believed it, and then suddenly you show up and expect him to take it with a smile? Dude, leave him alone. You’re making me think you don’t know him as well as you claim to. ‘ He pauses, dropping his arm away from York, “give him a minute. He just found out you’re not fucking dead. Knowing Wash, he’s probably either going through shock, or trying to find some sort of cryptic speech to give you. It’s most likely both.”

It gets York thinking, in which he’ll finally draw a conclusion from the Captain’s rather concerned speech with a sigh and  restrain himself even further to not carry through with decking Tucker just for his sass. It wasn’t something he needed right now, it wasn’t something he _wanted._ He’ll step back, tossing a final glance towards the Blue Base before turning and sighing.

Tucker was absolutely right.

He hated it.

* * *

The entire time York stays at the base, it’s awkward and irritating as all living fuck, to say the very least. Washington hasn’t spoken to him since, and instead he goes out of his way to not say anything, and to avoid the other Agent as much as possible --- Which, anyone would think would be incredibly difficult.

But, see, he just had a certain knack for avoiding things. York was somewhat grateful that Tucker atleast attempted small talk here and there, but Caboose could’ve been less... Annoying. ( For whatever reason, though, he couldn’t stay mad at the kid. ) 

It just so happened to be fate’s cruel play that, in the middle of the night, York stumbled across Washington in the makeshift kitchen of the Base, drinking tea. It was nostalgic, waking up to him like this --- Just wandering around the base, trying to map it out in case of emergency, bored in general. Not really being able to sleep. 

Was Washington suffering the same thing?

 

_York checks the environment around him, eyes betraying just how stern his face has suddenly resorted to. But he’s suddenly constantly shifting his gaze from the floor to Washington, the floor to the bed, the floor to Washington --- Over and over again. His world spun beneath him, a dizziness that could only be induced by such a person in his life. Not even Delta spoke to him now, just anger and betrayal ringing throughout his ears and heart._

_It takes everything for him to not immediately punch the other Freelancer right square in his face --- The very same face he thought was so beautiful. The very same face that used to look at him with such adoration, such love ; The very same face that looked stone cold apathetic and downright_ angry.

_“That’s bullshit. You’re bullshitting me. Fuck you. Fuck you and fuck your idea of ‘keeping me safe’ --- It’s horseshit. And frankly? Fuck you, David.” His words are practically spit towards the other, eyebrows furrowing downwards because there’s such a whirlwind of emotions ranging throughout him at that exact moment. He has no idea what to do._

_But he does what he does best, and masks it with anger._

_“Fuck that, I’m not leaving you. I absolutely refuse to leave your side.”  
_

_And immediately, Washington is standing up with his gaze snapped on to York, pure and raw detest burning with fury behind his emerald eyes. Adrenaline starts pumping through his veins, his hands balling into fists as a tremor subtly wracks through his body and renders him nearly speechless for a moment._

_He’s so angry --- Furious at everything the Project had done to the Freelancers. Furious that he had been so easily manipulated, so easily tormented and exposed and utterly destroyed. He was insane. He had gone insane._

_“Guess what,_ Agent New York? _You can’t decide how I want to live my life, now. You never did. This is what I desire, what I need and what I should’ve needed right from the start.” A slight pause. “My name is not David. It’s_ Agent Washington _.”  
_

There’s the gentle thrumming of the rain, the audible sounds of Washington sipping the fresh brew of tea he had made in order to calm his nerves down if just somewhat. But York’s standing there, right in the hallway --- He says something that the former Freelancer can’t recall clearly, ( was it ‘ some things never change ‘ ? it had to be. )  and he pulls a seat adjacent to him. All the Captain could do was wait with bated breath. Wait for him to say something, anything. 

But nothing else came.

There’s thick tension in the air, heavy silence that was only somewhat broken by the noise of the storm outside but it’s deafening enough to kill Washington right on the spot. He had cried so hard, too hard, when York had decided to pay him a visit, thousands of questions and regrets filling his head until it wasn’t just the nightmares keeping him awake at night. He registers what York had said before, and there’s a bitter chuckle dancing off of chapped lips as he takes another sip of the tea until he finally shifts from leaning against the wall to sitting normally in the seat. But even with the desire to avoid eye contact at all costs, Washington brings himself to allow his green gaze to settle upon the man he had come to love so much in the distant years of the past. Eyes that weren’t bothered to be concealed by gold contacts anymore.

“You say that so fondly.”

And it’s been long, too long since York has seen those eyes, has seen the way they used to look at him. It leaves pangs of sadness in his heart, leaves him feeling unnecessarily hollow. He almost wants to march his way up to higher authorities and demand for a golden trophy because _Fuck_ if he wasn’t such a strong-willed person, he would’ve definitely ended up reaching to grab Washington’s hands. To hold him. To tell him how much he missed him.

But he knew it wouldn’t be the same, that it wouldn’t return to the way things were --- Not with how they ended so brutally. 

He wishes with every fiber of his being that the other former Agent would turn this awkwardness into one of those familiar nights on the Mother of Invention, but he just knows he can’t give his hopes up. He just knows Washington wouldn’t do something like that, not after what happened.

But York can’t help it, he can’t help biting his lip to hide the stupidest grin threatening to reveal itself just because he talked to him finally. For a moment he’s unsuccessful. ( And this doesn’t go unnoticed by Washington. )

 

 _“You don’t control what I want and what I do, you know. Using such a shitty excuse to dump me, is that really what you’ve become,_ Agent Washington? W _e all know that bullshit isn’t real. Cut the fuckin’ crap and just tell me now, tell me that I make you_ sick. _Tell me you don’t love me anymore. Tell me my actual safety means jack shit to you, because let’s face it. I must’ve not meant much to you for you to do this to me.”_

“And just tell me: Why wouldn’t I? Why can’t I? They were awesome times. Y’know, _before they weren’t_.”

It’s enough of a bite to leave the Captain flinching, the ache in his heart growing ever so prevalent until he just can’t take such a pressure, and sips his tea with deliberate slowness to ease his anxiety. Washington’s leg starts to bounce, his gaze shifting right from York’s to the wall about him, every bit of restraint being summoned in order to keep him from grabbing his hand to hold it and cherish it so much. Those words resonate within the confinements of his head, a certain sadness beginning to seep through his eyes.

“Don’t say it like that.” 

His voice would drop to a whisper as he got up, a gentle ‘please’ ushered before he turned to place the mug in the cabinet and lean over the counter.

“...Was there anything you needed, Agent York?”

It’s so foreign to the sound, to the way it stumbles off his tongue. 

Was it always like that before he called him Hunter?

But York’ll freeze, making him sit straight in his seat and stiffen under the words that Washington had said and motioned to, and there’s the sense of growing anger in the pits of his stomach because all he wants is for the other Agent to just _look him in the eye._ He steels himself from demanding such, snapping and demanding, because he knows that it’ll get him nowhere but causing a bigger rift ( If even possible at that point ) between the two. 

Deep down... York knew the intentions behind why Washington did what he did. He understood. However painful it was, he understood.

“I won’t ignore anything. The history is what happened, there’s no changing it.”

He sees the way the other man visibly flinches, the way how his shoulder jerk up  and his grip on the counter tightens. He knows. He knows all too well. 

He just never thought he’d be the one causing Wash such emotions.

“...’Couldn’t sleep.”

The warmth Washington feels from the cup is so distant, so far away --- Just like the two of them had grown. Just like the two of them were right at this moment, even if that’s not the way how things were supposed to be. They were supposed to be happy, they were supposed to be holding each other and saying how they were to never leave each other again. That they had each other. That they loved each other. But none of that rode the air, none of that relieved the rising tension in the air as Washington felt the anger and conflict radiating off of York in waves so strong that it threatened to envelop him entirely. No amount of words could ever measure up and portray his guilt to York completely like he wanted it to.

“I’m well aware.”

He just wants to hold him again.

“I’m sorry.”

But he can’t.

And it leaves York feeling somewhat stunned, the simple two words striking a nerve somehow and gives him a lacking feeling of comfort. It had left him so open, so exposed --- But he’s cursed and willing himself to just not speak too quickly and fuck everything up even worse than they were before.

He wasn’t just treading lightly, he was fucking _floating._

“...You know me and sleeping early.”

He just can’t bring himself to heed the apology.

And Washington is left feeling even more hollow than before, because he knows, he just _knows_ that things will never be the same between the two former lovers. It kills him to know that. ( But knowing and accepting things were two totally different matters. ) He’s so grateful York can’t see his face, see the unraveling mess he’s starting to become, because suddenly there are tears gathering underneath his eye and they’re just rolling off. 

One by one.

But it’s silent, it always is.

“I just can’t sleep, is all. ‘Nothing to worry about.”

It feels like a stab right through the heart to lie directly to York, even if he wasn’t facing him and he would never see the betrayal in his eyes. They always did tell the other man exactly what Washington was feeling and thinking, no matter what. It was either that, or York really did know him just like the back of his hand. 

He wanted nothing more than to just turn and run to him, tell him everything that was happening, tell him all about the night terrors that plagued him when the sun set and silence hung over the base like a curtain. He had relived every one of the Freelancers’ death over and over again and then some, every night, every waking moment he would begin to think. They were there.

He couldn’t handle being alone again.

“...Wash. I always worry, and you know that.”

York is quite literally forcing himself to remain seated as he witnesses the undoing of Washington’s mind, the unraveling as his shoulders began to faintly shake in the darkness --- He knew, He knew all too well when the other man cried. It took all of his energy and will to sit there and not jump up, run to Washington and hug his waist from behind, plant kisses all over his shoulder and whisper that everything would be okay. Tell him how beautiful he was. As long as they were together again, everything would remain okay. 

But he couldn’t.

Even when they grew apart... Even when the Gods didn’t want them together... York always cared.

“...You do know that, right?”

 

 _“Grow a pair and tell me you don’t fucking love me. C’mon,_ Agent Washington. _Fucking say it.”_

 

And his hand gives a slight twitch, a miscalculation in his movements that Washington was sure the Former Freelancer would notice. He almost wiped the tears away, but he knew he couldn’t --- He knew York would immediately pick up on the fact he was in utter tears over the entire situation at hand. All the past mannerisms, the little traits and quirks of his that had been long since buried seemed to be rising above the surface --- Just because York wasn’t dead.

Just because he had decided to show up out of nowhere with no warning, and think everything was going to be just peachy keen.

Washington wished hard, so hard, that he could turn the clock back and redo that day over again. Never hurt York. Never listen to the medics. Never say goodbye. _I hate goodbyes._

_“...Fine. Listen here, Agent York. You really think love is real? That it isn’t just us being manipulated by whatever kind of force driving us to commit?  You don’t think the Director planned this right from the start? Wake up. It doesn’t exist. We don’t exist.  
_

_“I don’t love you.”  
_

And he grips the counter until his knuckles go white, his voice raising several octaves as the words escape his mouth before he can stop them ---

“I still love you!”

But Washington turns paler than normal, a hand snapping up to cover his mouth as he whips around and begins a pace to somehow escape past York --- Go anywhere --- Anywhere but here. 

Escape the humiliation, because he was so, horribly wrong.

But to York, it’s as if every wish and prayer has been somehow granted to him, even if it rendered him nearly useless to the situation. He froze, every muscle of his refusing to respond and move according to what he had just wanted to do. What he yearned to do. His heart rate picks up so fast, he almost knows for sure Washington can hear it, can feel it --- So much pent up emotion comes to bubble up and overflow, threatening and threatening until it actually manages to do so.

Ge reaches for Washington’s wrist, because it’s the only he can do right now, it’s the only thing his mind will allow him to do. His fears. He doesn’t know if should really bring Wash into a full on embrace, or leave him be --- So he finds this medium of sorts and sticks right the fuck with it.

“...I’m sorry.”

But why? Why did York forgive him? What did Washington do to deserve it? He had destroyed him in cold blood, right when he needed him the most, and yet here he stood --- Openly forgiving him. Why? _Why?_ This man that had managed to steal his breath away every time the Agent had set eyes on him, who made him love himself so much, why did he deserve what Washington had done to him? He didn’t. York didn’t deserve any of it.

Washington didn’t deserve his kindness. He didn’t deserve the warmth York’s fingers brought to his entire arm.

“You shouldn’t be sorry. I should be sorry.” He just can’t help but shake his head, his shoulder beginning to finally tremble as the tears overflow in copious amounts. All the pent up feelings made an entrance once more.

“And I’m so... So, sorry.”

But nothing can compare to the amount of guilt that York is feeling, all of the memories of that dreaded day coming back in waves to haunt him once more as the scene unfolded. He could have stayed with Washington that day. He could have refused. He could have won that fight. But he didn’t. When he was suffering such horrible trauma that rendered him frail and weak, York had turned his back on him. He could have saved him. He could have made him see what was really happening. He could have braved all the fights in the world for Washington, and yet he didn’t.

The regret left him with tears of his own, forces his hands to move and his body to become closer to the other Agent to cup his face. It’s a bit rougher, yeah, but... It felt so familiar.

He saw Washington again.

And their foreheads meet once again --- The same warmth that he had longed for for so long returned.

“I see you,” York breathed. _I see you for all your worth, even if you don’t._  “I am the one who’s sorry, here. I left you in your time of need, Wash. You were screaming for help and I knew. I left. I knew. _I fucking knew._ ”

But Washington raises a hand to cup the other man’s, not the slightest bit fazed by the calloused fingers and rougher exterior. He felt the heat. He felt the utter adoration once more. And he shakes his head, gentle sobs escaping his larynx as the tiniest and broken of smiles tugs at his lips. This was something he had longed for, something he thought he would never feel again. Something he would never, ever experience again.

This man made him whole. Drove him to be who he was. 

They say you find love frequently. They say you’re fucking lucky is your love reciprocates the feelings. They say you’re one in a million if you find your soulmate. 

But if you do... You’ll know. You’ll know just by the way your heart picks up every time you both catch each other’s gaze, you’ll know just by how hard you smile and giggle every time they even so much as smile too, you’ll know just by the feeling you get when they touch you and it feels like your skin is on pure fire, only the fire is passion and love resonating within every bone in your body, you’ll know by the steel lacing itself into your bone. You’ll know by the time you kiss, there will be fireworks. You’ll know when you take your love to the furthest ranks, the way how they call out your name leaves you screaming their’s and never, ever letting go. You’ll know by the days you wake up in the morning, and they’re the only thing on your mind for every second until you go to sleep. You’ll know by when they even haunt your dreams.

You’ll know.

And Washington knew, he knew York was his soulmate. From the lazy mornings they spent just basking in each other’s embrace and mere presence, the way they gazed into each other’s eyes, the way how they said they loved each other, the way how the sweet and sensual sex usually ended in cries for each other, how it ended in cuddles and never letting go. It ended with gentle massages, whispers of “I love you” in the sheets. The way how they made each other laugh so hard that they cried. The way how they no longer had to be in secret anymore.

They could be free.

“York --- Please, don’t ever leave me again. I need you, I love you so much --- _I missed you.  Don’t leave me again._ ”

And he knew by the way how York just squished his cheeks, chuckled, and Washington just kissed him with all the passion the both of them had held in ever since he had broke his heart so long ago.

It felt like it never even happened. 

“I hate to break it to you, Wash, but you’re never escaping me now. You’re stuck with me for life, but a part of me just says you don’t really have a problem with that, huh?”

And for the first time in so long, he’ll laugh --- The both of them will laugh together, just like it had been in the past.

York was his soulmate. 

It was written in the stars, it was written in their hearts, it was written in the way how their love transcended anything and everything.

“...Hey, York?”

It felt so right. It felt so complete, so perfect to have him here. It didn’t even matter if they woke up Tucker or Caboose, Or Carolina. All that mattered was this, right here, right then, _them._

And for once, Washington didn’t have any doubt.

 

“Marry me?”

**Author's Note:**

> i decided to write this because of a join plotting session i had with yorksmith ( on tumblr ! ), and i thought that it was too good of a storyline of sorts to just pass up!  
> hope you enjoyed uvu;b


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